The Witch Within
by Cookie-Loving Kiara
Summary: First chapter's the poem, second one's the story. Both about Zoey turning into a Witch. Enjoy! Please R&R, thank you!
1. Poem

Diclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead.

**A/N:** Started thinking how bad it must have been for Zoey, having lost two fathers in less than a month, so I wrote a short poem. Here you go!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Mother dead

By bullet.

Father dead

By me.

Why? The unwelcomed guest came in

And bit my mother

Before being killed.

It was like a suicide mission, but

Deadlier.

Ambulance didn't pick up.

Panic flooding me as

I ran back to see

Mother attacking father.

She was killed with a single bullet,

And so was that of my father's

Fate.

Tears flowing, hands trembling, heart hesitating.

"I love you, Dad."

Two weeks past and

William Bill Overbeck became my new

Father.

But as time passes,

When we reached Rayford of Georgia,

When we left behind the doctor,

When we had hope for safety,

When Tanks welcomed us,

I realised how much I actually cared for

Bill.

Stuck on a bridge,

Crying, weeping, mourning.

My brown hair no longer a ponytail,

Instead just messily hiding my tear-stained face.

My nails growing longer as time passes,

Francis and Louis annoying me

Just by looking.

Next thing I knew,

I had joined the others.

I had become Infected.

I had become

A Witch.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Here's a deal, if I get seven reviews, I'll make a one-shot based on this.

Pleasant days and peaceful nights.


	2. Story

Diclaimer: I don't own Left 4 Dead.

**A/N: **Thank you to the seven people who actually read the poem! It made me quite happy! Now, I was wondering whether this one-shot should actually be a chapter-by-chapter story since it's pretty long. Hope y'all don't mind a full one-shot! And sorry it's a little late! :P

Second note: I deleted that failure of a fanfiction. Just because it's a werewolf-and-vampire story does not mean Twilight. Geez...

To Tempest Hound, I won't forget you, don't worry :)

There are five stages off grief, but let's just say that the fifth doesn't exist for poor little Zoey.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"I love you, Zoey,"

She stared at Wade. She stared at the claw and bite wounds that of which blood gushed out from. After seeing her mother, Carolyn, claw out her father's right eye, every sense, every thought, every memory was blurred by tears and adrenaline. Zoey gave a soft sniff, as though she could hold back the overflowing tears, but she couldn't.

"I love you, Dad," she could barely choke the words out.

The college girl turned away, tears pouring out from her tightly closed eyes. Her hands were shaking from both hesitation, fear and sorrow, but her trembling finger pulled the trigger back slowly.

"_Goodbye,_"

**BANG!**

Zoey's eyes shot open, a sharp gasp of fear escaped her lips. She sat upright as glanced around wildly, causing her now untied hair to whip at her face. Letting out an annoyed grunt, she brushed the slightly messy brown strands away from her vision, silently grudging the Infected that had clawed her hair tie off. The college dropout blinked and sighed with relief. Still on the bridge, still safe with Louis and Francis who were still sleeping.

But Bill was still dead.

Her hands covered her face and she dug her fingernails into her head. Shaking her head, she began to weep softly.

She **hated** that nightmare.

It was like a stupid replay of her memory. As though her brain - or heart - was continously accusing her for killing her own father.

And somewhere inside her, Zoey felt guilty for Bill's death, too.

It had been over three days since the sacrifice - not as though she bothered counting. They couldn't get off the bridge until Louis healed, and even if he did, Zoey wouldn't bother moving. Her spirits were heavily weighed down by her sorrows. The three-day old memory kept nagging at her, reminding her as though it was just yesterday. She let out a small sniffle and wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her bright-red jacket.

"Grow up and grow strong," she whispered to herself, her voice nearly hoarse from crying. "Neither Dad, Mom nor Bill would want you to be this weak. But- but," Her tears were returning, messing up her eyesight and blurring the dark metal grates of the bridge. "I'm sorry, Bill,

"I just can't."

The teengirl drew her kness to her chest, hugging her Hunting Rifle close to her as though it was a plush toy. She knew she'd probaly look silly, trying to get comfort from a gun, but she didn't dare wake the two men up. Much less hug one for comfort. Instead, she curled up into a tight ball and rocked herself back and forth, forcing herself to hum a quiet song; but it was adruptly stopped every now and then from her sobs.

It seemed like forever before she cried herself to sleep.

~.~.~ _Stage One: Denial - The Unbelievable Lie_ ~.~.~

Zoey growled when she felt a light tap on her shoulder, slapping the hand away with annoyance. She buried her face behind her arms, still growling as a warning. The presence recoiled. '_Thank you,_' she thought, lifting her head slightly to see morning arriving from the east, and her two friends still on the bridge. At least they haven't left her, too.

"Sheesh, she's getting worser each day," Francis grumbled from a distance. "Like our supplies." He stared at the pitiful small pile of canned food and snacks, then sighed.

"Don't say that." Louis replied. "It's hard for all of us, and harder for her."

"I know..." He sighed again. "But why did Bill have to go all suicidal?"

Zoey swung her legs under her neatly, staring at the floor. "He isn't dead."

"What?" both men question in unison. She could see that they were shocked and confused. Whether at her sudden claim or not, she couldn't tell.

"Bill isn't dead. He'll come back, I _know_ he will. We'll find him in another closet, he'll be banging on the door, yelling at us to let him out." She couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the angry voice of the old veteran: 'I know you can hear me goddamn it, let me the hell out!' he'd yelled.

Louis looked at her with concerned eye. He extended a hand towards her, reaching out to pat her shoulder. "Zoe-"

"He. Is. **Not. DEAD!**" Zoey shrieked, slamming her clutched fists onto the metal grates, short amusement overtaken by anger. Louis flinched back, fingertips barely contacting the bright red fabric of her jacket. She covered her ears, digging her long fingernails into the flesh in frustration. "Bill will come back. He always does, he always **will.** He's not dead, he'll come back." She looked up at Francis and Louis with tear-filled eyes, anger completely faded and replaced with hope. "Right?'

"Err... yea," Francis murmured, unsure of what to make of his friend.

"Really?"

"Of course." Louis answered. The lie seemed unbelievable, but it was better than the bitter truth. Actually the truth was so unrealistic that he could barely tell which was a lie.

Zoey smiled and dragged her sleeve along her eyes, wiping away her tears. "I'll be stronger, then," She stood up and took a deep breath, allowing the sea breeze to soak her worries - even if it was only temporary. The teengirl released the breath in a shuddering sigh as she walked towards the small supply pile. She picked up a chocolate bar and stared at it. Just thinking about how they never had a proper breakfast for more than two weeks made her wonder why. Why's there always a shortage of food? Okay, granted she had developed a nervous eating habit less than two days ago, but it was already proven that chocolate could make one happy. Plus, she was starting to like sugar. A lot. And those two things were a major change in her previous diet.

The young woman walked towards the other side of the bridge, away from the two men, and leaned against the railing. Her lips formed a confused pout as she nibbled nervously on the snack. Shaking her head, she pushed away the uneasy feeling in her stomach.

She just kept a lookout for Bill.

~.~.~.~.~

"Aw great," Francis groaned as he looked up at the sky. "Overcast."

Zoey paid little attention to the biker, her eyes were entirely focused on the area below them, scanning the place for her foster father as she picked off several Infected with her rifle. "It's been hours," she whimpered, looking back at the others. "When's he coming?"

"T-that? err..." Louis searched the floor, the air, the boats, **anything,** for an answer. "Erm..."

"You said he was coming. He promised us," Her trembling fingers gripped the Hunting Rifle tighter. She bit her lower lip to keep from wailing, tears forming in her eyes. "Why isn't he here yet?"

"_Francis,_" the businessman whispered, "_help._"

"_Do you think I'm a consoler or something?_" was his reply.

A loud, echoing metal clank caught both men's attention. The rifle laid on the grates, several feet away from Zoey. She slid down on her knees, covering her face with her hands and gripping her hair. Her mouth were forming quiet words.

"_Billisn'tdeadBillisn'tdeadBillisn'tdeadBillisn'tdeadBillisn'tdead-_"

Francis whispered, "She's starting to remind me of that crazy church guy..."

Zoey didn't even hear the insult, she just kept mumbling, "I _know_ he isn't dead. He'll come, he'll walk towards the bridge, waving to us and happy to know we're alright. Then we'll head to the Keys together, all four of us. As a family. He isn't dead, he'll come. I know he will."

_Promise me you'll be strong, don't let a little setback wreck your goal._

"I'm trying, I really am," she sobbed. Her hands gripped the metal grates in front of her to keep her balance as she leaned forward, still weeping. "Just come back soon.

Please."

"_Hey! You! The guy in the vest!_"

The new voice made Zoey whip her head in the direction, letting out a short, confused - maybe even angry - 'huh?'. But it was hoarse from crying, she could hardly pronounce it without it sounding like a growl or whatnot. With the aid of the railing, she propped herself up and stumbled forward.

To see four people on the other side of the bridge.

~.~.~ _Newcomers_ ~.~.~

"I'm telling you the last goddamn time: Lower the goddamn bridge so we can get our goddamn car across, you greasy vest-wearing monkey!"

"Bite me, Colonel Sanders!"

"Hey, boys! Okay, if we get to the other side, can you help us lower it?"

"Hell yeah, I'll help _you._"

"... Thank you!"

Zoey's emotionless dull eyes followed the four new Survivors. She couldn't catch what the other lady had said before thanking Francis, but still, it was nice to see four more people bearing the torch.

Though fighting for their lives was a downer.

Some part of her wanted her to shout at them, telling them to look out for the old veteran, the hero. But another part, mainly her throat, was reminding her that she couldn't speak that clearly anymore. She sighed and watched as the four figures disappearred around a corner.

~.~.~.~.~

"Stop squirmin', I'm gonna heal you,"

Zoey looked up in an instant, then frowned when it was only Coach. She sighed. Why did the health teacher have to use the same words? Sure, they didn't have the same voice, but the sentence was so familiar. She pushed the thought away.

Francis was leaning against the railing as the others gathered. " 'Dee-Pec Mode'." he mused. "Classy. Nice shirt, Rochelle,"

"Thanks, Francis, nice vest." Rochelle returned the compliment.

Zoey almost choked on nothing - or was nothing air? She didn't know. "Francis? Really? Tell me you're joking." She struggled to form the words without a trace of hoarseness, shaking her head and sending her hair brushing her back. Her arms were still folded since she had to meet the other Survivors up close.

Francis looked at her in confusion, his hands gesturing. "What? Obviously she's a woman of taste."

"Yeah. Thanks," Rochelle caught their attention again. "But in the meantime, we should get to work on that generator..."

"Uh, okay. You guys go down to the generator" - Zoey pointed to the elevator - "and get it working. While _I'm _going to stay here and go throw up." It wasn't only the fact that Francis and Rochelle could be a couple, but honestly, Zoey's stomach was churning with malaise. A few moments ago, before Ellis, Nick, Rochelle and Coach came up, her stomach had tried to force chocolate-bile up her throat. Luckily she managed _not_ to vomit.

As she watched the four of them walking towards the elevator, she called out, "Oh! And keep a lookout for Bill! Help him back, please!"

"Sure!" Ellis answered, stopping in his tracks and looking back. "Whud does he look like?"

"Old man, green jacket and hat. He promised he'd be back, so help him, will you?"

The mechanic gave a confident grunt and nodded. He ran back to join the others.

"Bill will come back, he promised." she mumbled under her breath, not noticing the pitiful glances from both Louis and Francis.

~.~.~_ Stage Two: Anger - The Untamed Emotion_ ~.~.~

"Eh, erm, Zoey?"

The young woman looked down to see Ellis. "Yea?"

"Tha' Bill man y' were talkin' 'bout earlier, he's erm," he paused, and seemed to look slightly nervous, or scared. "He's erm... he's" - the mechanic took of his cap and laid it against his chest, looking down to avoid eye contact - "_gone..._"

Zoey's eye widen in shock. It must have been the loud racket from the Infected and generators. She **must** have heard him wrong."N-no, it can't be," She shook her head frantically. "You must have saw the wrong guy. Bill's still alive, I know it."

"Ellis, get back to killing!" Nick scolded the younger male. He switched his gaze to Zoey. "Look cupcake, I'm sorry for your loss, but the man's _dead._ Now unless you wish for us to _drag his dead body_ all the way to you guys, you oughta let it go. The man's in a happier place, unlike this hellhole." The con-man smashed an Infected over the head with his rifle.

Zoey just continued shaking her head, her hands didn't bother shooting. "He can't be dead..." she managed to say.

"I'm sorry, but we saw Bill. All _four_ of us saw him. He's gone."

Tears were blurring her sight again. "He- he's not coming back?"

"I'm sorry, but no, he isn't." Nick held an Assault Rifle in his hands. "But here, catch," He threw it up.

Zoey caught it. She sat down and set it on her lap. Everything around her tranformed into nothing - no sounds, no sights, nothing - as her thoughts numbly ran through her mind.

'_Bill's rifle... He broke his promise. Bill broke his promise._

'_No! It wasn't Bill! It wasn't his fault. If those Tanks hadn't came, then none of this would have happened. Yes, that was the answe- no, wait..._

'_It was __**me.**_

'_If- if I hadn't... __**hated**__ Bill so much, maybe he would have came back. Oh God, I can't believe I had been such an ass when we got to Rayford. If I could, I would have taken __**everything**__ back. Then Bill would come back._

'_I should have stopped him. I had the chance, I had the choice; but I didn't. I can't believe I didn't. Oh my God, Bill, I'm so sorry._

'_Dad, I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have had just stood there, I should have helped you. You were being attacked by Mom and- and I didn't do anything useful. All I did was stand there._

'_If I didn't spend the first semester skipping classes, then Mom wouldn't have visited. If she didn't, she wouldn't have gotten Infected, then Dad wouldn't have been attacked. But she did, and he was, and I can't believe I killed him. He could have been a Carrier! Immune, even!_

'_This shit's all my fault._

'_I knew it._'

"-ey!"

A violent shake on Zoey's shoulder woke her up from a trance-like state. It all seemed so sudden when all the noise swallowed her up. Another rattle. She wiped her tears away to see clearly and blinked. The bridge was already down, the car was driving off and the noise was slowly dying down.

Another shake.

Zoey growled loudly, glaring at Francis who had shaken her three times on the shoulder. In one swift movement, she lashed both hand out and raked her nails down from his shoulder as hard as she could. The biker's recoil of shock only made it worse, and Zoey continued glaring at him; a low rumbling sound still came from her throat.

He was hesitant to try and retrieve the glove that got ripped off from the sudden hostility, but instead he backed away, turning his back to find Louis.

~.~.~.~.~

Night had already fallen; a single silver scratch of the moon could be seen amongst the dark clouds, the stars unseenable behind the thick black veil. Just like the hidden stars, the waves could hardly be heard.

Zoey's mourning was much louder, and it was hard for Louis and Francis to ignore.

"Can you believe it? She actually _attacked_ me." Francis stretched out his right arm, hand gloveless and eight line marks clearly visible despite the several hours since inflicted.

Louis glanced at Zoey worringly. "I don't know what to believe anymore," he sighed. "Forgive her, alright? She's dealing with the second stage of grief: Anger."

"Doesn't mean she should act like a Witch..." he grumbled, then sighed. He followed Louis' gaze.

The girl sat far away from them; tears pooled from her sorrow-filled eyes, staining her pale cheeks; her fingers gripped the metal grate for support, her chest heaved with each hoarse, deep breath after each loud sob.

She did not want to be disturbed.

Small bright lights sparked from a distance, accomponied with soft whistling and exploding sounds. Zoey looked up with a sharp startled gasp. The distant light lit up the place better than the moon; it reflected off the teengirl's pale, grim face, it streaked her brown hair with a silver glow, her green irises shone, standing out from the reddish cast in her eyes, caused by crying.

Zoey's hair fell on her face as she looked back down and continued to weep.

"_Why me?_"

~.~.~ _Disease_ ~.~.~-

One pale hand gripped onto the topmost bar of the railing, the other placed against her own stomach. Zoey gagged; she hated that stupid numb feeling in her mouth. She pressed herself against the morning-chilled metal railing and stared down at the water beneath her.

A sickly woman stared back at her with dull green eyes, lower eyelids a darker complexion compared to the pale - even greyish - face. Her hair was slightly messy and ruffled, and overall the girl looking back looked tired and ill.

Zoey sighed. She lifted her hand from her stomach and combed through her hair with the long nails; then gathered the shoulder-length strands together, as if about to tie a ponytail. Instead, her feet slid back numbly from under her and her knees slammed against the grates, but Zoey didn't notice the pain as it shot up her legs. She leaned over slightly to stare at her pitiful reflection one last time, before her head pitched forward suddenly.

Oh, how she hated fevers.

~.~.~.~.~

The pattern repeated a few times: Puke, cough, gasp, rest; puke, cough, gasp, rest.

Francis was patting and smoothing her back since Louis' injuried leg prevented him from leaving his location near the supply pile. Zoey gave one last cough, then pushed her friend away gently enough. Twisting around to sit down, she draped one arm over her bent knee as she wipe her mouth clean.

"Are you okay?" Francis asked. He saw that she had turned even more paler than before, even her brown hair was turning silver from what he guessed as stress. The sick appearance wasn't helping, either.

Zoey stared at her sleeve with tired eyes; first tears, now a small hint of bile. She frowned. "Better, I guess," she sighed. "Damn fevers."

A soft familiar rattle, and the female blinked in surprise when a bottle of pain pills bumped against her foot. She smiled at Louis, shaking her head softly. "Pain pills aren't real medicine, they're just temporary. Plus, it'd be a waste since I'm not in pain, I'm just a little sick." Zoey rolled the white bottle back before dropping the smile casually.

"And stressed out - your hairs turning white." Francis pointed out.

She snarled at him. He backed away, and Zoey blinked in surprise at her own hostility. She looked down, slightly ashamed. "Sorry..." she murmured. "I didn't mean it. I- I just don't know why I've been angrier lately. Maybe it's this fever." She didn't see the skeptical looks Francis and Louis shot at her. "I just need a rest."

"Sure,"

Zoey took a moment to focus on her breathing, to slow it down. She closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders, blocking out every single sound she heard. Within a few minutes, she was asleep.

.

.

.

But it wasn't long before she woke up screaming from a nightmare.

~.~.~.~.~

"... and then they just left me for dead." A sobbing hiccup followed.

Zoey buried her face behind her clean sleeve. She had taken quite some time to explain her nightmare - in which Bill, Wade and Carolyn had turned Infected and betrayed her, accusing her for not saving them - since she was being interrupted by a sob or wail every now and then. Louis was sitting beside her, listening; but he didn't dare try to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder for she had flinched and growled at the first contact a few minutes ago. "It was just a dream," he would say, but Zoey would continue weeping.

"I should have saved them," She gave a sniffle. "I should have, I _could _have, but I _didn't._"

"Don't blame yourself," Louis told her. "Francis and I didn't stop Bill, either. Let's all share the blame, so don't be too hard on yourself."

Zoey stopped. She stopped her crying, she stopped her sniffling. She just sat there completely still, gaze still aimed at the floor. After a few moments, she finally broke the silence. "You're right," she rasped, then swung her head to face Louis. Her green eyes narrowed as she shot a poisoned glare. "You two had the choice to save him, and both of you didn't. Did the thought even _come_ to your mind at all?"

The businessman wanted to speak, but he knew better than to argue with a sick, angry, grieving person - it wouldn't change anything, anyway. He kept his mouth shut as the female continued ranting, and didn't dare do anything when she went back to crying.

Her only request was to be alone.

~.~.~ _Seeing... __**orange?**_ ~.~.~

She rubbed her eyes again and blinked. "Dammit," she muttered. Zoey had spent the day before weeping and crying, not even bothering to eat, and woke up surprised (though more to the annoyed side later on) on the next day to be somewhat colour-blind.

All she could see was in orange. Even a cat could see more colours than her now!

Zoey sighed. "Can fevers make one colour-blind?"

"What?" Francis asked, confused.

She looked at him, her eyes still held the reddish cast that seemed to be slowly creeping its way through the green of her eyes like rust on metal. "Everything's orange." she stated flatly, trying to hide the small hint of worry in her voice.

"Everything?"

"_Everything._ If it isn't, it's black, or white. Other than that, all shades of orange." Zoey explained. She glanced around and frowned. "And it's still here."

Louis joined in. "Is it bearable?"

"I'll get used to it," she answered; then added quietly under her breath, "hopefully..."

_Much hope indeed._

~.~.~ _Stage Three: Bargaining - The Dying Hope_ ~.~.~

'_Please, God, let this all just be a nightmare. Green Flu, the uninvited guest, Mom's death, Dad's death, the Tanks, Bill's death..._

'_**My**__ coming death._

'_I promise to be a better person, a better daughter. I'd study hard, I'd listen to my elders, I'd do good deeds._

'_Please, just give me another chance to rewind time; to save Mom, to save Dad,_

'_To save Bill._

'_**Please.**_'

A growl-like sigh escaped her lips. Zoey tossed her head up to stare at the cloudy sky blankly, it always looked like sunset with it's new orange hue. Whenever she wasn't crying, she was praying for another chance. But something in her heart was draining her hopes. Maybe it was because she had been praying for days and God never did anything. Zoey sighed again, her head lazily rolled to the side as she gazed at Louis and Francis, her eyes half-closed.

"You know how I went on earlier about hope? I've been thinking it through,

"I think it's dead."

~.~.~ _Stage Four: Depression - The Living Corpse_ ~.~.~

She sat alone, her head rested on her hands, elbows placed on her bent knees that were drawn up. Her gaze downcasted upon the floor, her silver-streaked brown hair curtained her face. She sighed and blinked slowly, her mind blank as blank.

It had been almost a full week of Zoey being like this. Whenever she was asked a question, she would ignore it or answer slowly - her concentration was never focused. No matter how tired she felt she could never fall asleep, if she did her nightmares would keep on pestering her and waking her up. Every movement seemed to take her so much effort that she decided that whatever action she was going to do wasn't worth it. The irritating feeling of guilt and hopelessness in her heart gnawed her hunger away (not as if she bothered eating, anyway) and the only thoughts on her mind were about Bill, her father or her mother - either that or suicide. She _did_ still have her dual pistols and Sniper Rifle.

_Maybe..._

The thought slowly fizzled away before Zoey's mind could concentrate on it. She groaned and screwed her eyes shut.

_Thump!_

She dragged her arm up to cover her eyes, reminding herself not to get up later on. It was too tiring to bother about, anyway. Plus, she was aching all over.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"P... playing a g... game of 'S... Silent Statue'..." Zoey murmured her reply to Francis, her raspy words slow and dragging. "And n... now I'm l.. losing..." '_Now go away. I need to win this._' she added inwardly.

"Please, Zoey, eat _something._" She heard Louis' voice. He seemed almost pleading. "It's been more than eleven days. Bill wouldn't want to see you like this."

"I'm dying anyway..." Zoey struggled to form the words without much of her previous drag. "What's the point?" she sighed. The scent of sugar taunted her, but she didn't have the energy to eat. Some part of her wanted to screech at the two males for bothering her, another part was too tired. Zoey gritted her teeth when Louis' voice continued.

"C'mon, for Bill," he urged.

Zoey flung her arm down, slamming it hard against the grates. "Look, I'm going to give you a single warning and a single only: Leave me. The _fuck._ _**Alone.**_" she snarled, glaring fiercely as she propped herself up in one swift motion, ignoring the pain and her muscles' objection.

Both men flinched, Francis taking a few steps away. He squinted his eyes to see more clearly before the death glare got the better of him.

Either Zoey's green iries were getting smaller, or the reddish cast was spreading and growing bigger.

Whichever way, it was scary.

~.~.~ _The Witch Within_ ~.~.~

The mourning, the weeping, the nightmares, the headaches, the aggression, the pessimism, the insomnia.

It all adds up, doesn't it?

The female sat insolated from any other soul, just as she usually did. Her knees were bent and legs neatly and comfortably folded to her right. A single brown lock of her fringe stood out like a highlight against her silver hair, that of which covered her downcasted face like a veil. A loud wail of pain came from her.

Zoey clutched onto her head, her fingernails - or maybe claws, considering how fast and strong they had been growing - pricking at the flesh. Her eyes were closed tight with pain as her constant headache continued pounding. About an hour ago she had taken some pain pills, but the medicine only made it worse. She uttered what sounded like a frustrated cry from the pain and slammed her palms down, before gently pulling her hands to rest on her left knee.

Something gripped her shoulder, light and careful from fear.

A growl rumbled from her throat. The hand didn't go away.

She screeched.

Zoey's hands boosted her up from she earlier sitting position and she pushed her target away with her left arm, causing it to stumble back and fall. Something both shocked and scared came from it, but everything was muffled; her vision was clouded with red, and the only thing she could hear repeated its words loud and clear in her head. '_Kill, kill. Kill, kill._'

She raised her right hand, glaring down at the hazed figure with amber eyes. She didn't know whether she was grinning from seeing it cower in fear or just plain furious from being disturbed. Her claws twitched.

Maybe she _was_ grinning.

Zoey slashed her claws down. She heard a scream of fear and grinned wider.

But something stopped her, its firm grip around her wrist felt strange, like a barrier of air. She whipped her head to snarled, but instead her eyes widen from surprise.

"_Zoey, don't hurt him. It's Francis, a friend, not a foe._" Tears sprang from her eyes at the familiar old but strong voice.

The red haze of her sight dissolved back to orange as Zoey stared at the old veteran, at her old foster father. She choked a sob and glanced back at Francis, watching as he scrambled up and away from her, before switching her gaze to Bill. Gentle shimmering light outlined him, his clothes were stained with blood and a ghostly lit cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. The serious expression on his face slowly change as he smiled warmly at her, releasing her hand. The white light flashed intensily once, and Zoey could see him slowly fading away.

She desperately wanted to cry out her foster father's name, but her words were caught in her throat from both sickness and shock, and the only thing she could choke out was a short, broken screech. Bill smiled one last time, before the light fizzled away. She was left staring at her claws.

'_Bill..._'

The teengirl turned her head to stare at Francis and Louis, then at her claws and back again, suddenly struck by realisation. She had leave them. She _had_ to. Before she caused any real harm, any open wounds, any spilled blood.

'_I'm sorry, guys,_'

With tears streaking down her cheeks, she twisted around and ran with surprising speed; her feet were strangely light on the cold metal, as though drifting. She heard both her friends calling out her name, but ignored them. Instead, she screeched out a distressed wail as loud as possible to block out their voices; a distant horde cry replied.

Zoey stretched out her right hand and swiftly snatched up the Assault Rifle from the floor. Tucking it under her arm, she made sure her grip wasn't disrupted by her claws as she ran. The railing in front of her caught her attention and, with a well-timed motion, her left hand gripped the bar and she flung herself over.

More yelling of her name.

The college girl was surprised when she landed perfectly fine on her two feet, but hastily pushed aside the emotion. As she ran, she saw Francis running to the railling, calling out to her. Luckily surrounding her was the summoned horde, waiting. They didn't pay any attention to her as she easily pushed her way through the crowd, instead they were screeching and hollering at the bridge. The scents from the Common Infected overwhemled her with the stench of blood, illness and rotting flesh, but she managed to ignore it.

Something else hit her, something familiar, over-ridden by death. Zoey's feet twisted to her left in an instant.

She stared and stood still, stunned. Then forced herself to move forward, placing the rifle down carefully on the corpse.

With her new strength, she carefully half-carried half-dragged the body away.

~.~.~.~.~

The college girl was surprised that the zombies weren't that dumb after all. When she had brought Bill to a more peaceful location, the problem about maggots crawling inside and out of a person made her shudder, and seeing her worry, a female Infected had volunteered to assist.

"My friends and family!" she had yowled. The well- and formally-dressed zombies immediately turned to look at her. Zoey could tell they were giving their fullest attention behind those blank white eyes. "This dear girl requires our help, and help we shall give. So please, we need this person" - she gestured to Bill with a wave of her clawed hand - "to be more peaceful, to be buried."

And that was what happened. The only thing marking the resting place was the pile of fresh earth which Zoey knew was soon to fade. She had promised that she would guard it, to make sure no one stepped on the grave, and also to remember where Bill was.

She sat beside the brown patch of earth, crying when unexplained waves of sorrow swept over her. A hand gently touched her shoulder, and strangely this time, Zoey wasn't bothered at all. She looked up to see the female Infected's veiled face, a small, gentle motherly smile on her lips. She kneeled down and carefully wrapped her arms around the young lady, softly embracing her for a few seconds before letting go. She walked back to the short flight of stairs and sat down in front of them, spreading out her wedding gown around her feet. She looked at Zoey one last time, her caring smile still on her face.

"You won't be alone this time." the Wedding Witch promised.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I hope you enjoyed the story! I'm pretty happy about it.

Apparently, just for the sake of this story, I learnt quite a sum about griefing: Mood swings, the five stages, the pessimism, the unexplained aches, et cetera. It's quite sad, actually. Then of course I had to add symptoms of Green Flu and a pinch of Witch-like things into the mixture. I know, I know - each stage actully takes longer than a few days (they takes _months_), but who would want to read something like that? By then Louis would have recovered and they would have set off to the Keys. That wouldn't be fun.

Now before y'all complain about the supplies, the reason is that if, for example, Francis goes down to the boat, he can't get back up. Plus, it isn't that fun to be stuck in a boat with zombies and no friends.

Pleasant days and peaceful nights.


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